“Splendid. Miss Whitby, allow me to introduce my friends, Mr. Hartley and Mr. Stanton.”
She curtsied to the men. Mr. Hartley smiled at her, but Mr. Stanton glanced away, bored, after his perfunctory polite greeting.
“Any relation to James Whitby?” Mr. Hartley asked.
“I am his sister,” Caroline said.
Tristan seemed to move closer. “The Whitbys are my neighbors in Surrey, you will recall.”
“Of course.” Mr. Stanton sighed, tugging at the sleeve of his tan coat. “You’ve been friends for years, then.”
Why would that make him sound disappointed? Caroline looked at each of their faces when a moment of clarity fell over her. The only reason they would find her friendship with Tristan to be a threat was if they were involved in the wager, too. “You are all part of the same wager, I presume.”
Mr. Hartley looked at Tristan sharply. “You’ve told her of it? Does this mean the both of you are?—”
“No,” he said firmly. “Miss Whitby knows better than to entertain the idea of being my wife.”
“Knows better, does she?” Mr. Hartley said, amusementglittering in his eyes. Even Mr. Stanton’s interest appeared piqued. “I think we’re in greater danger than we imagined.”
Tristan’s expression turned stony, though Caroline could hardly credit why. “If you will excuse us, we have a game to finish.”
“You’ll find us later, I hope. We’ve much to discuss,” Mr. Hartley said.
“If I win, I’ll find you, Rosie. If not, you can be sure I’ll return home immediately to lick my wounds.”
Mr. Hartley frowned.
“You would not abandon me,” Caroline said. She did not understand the nuances between the men, but it was apparent Tristan didn’t want to speak about her to his friends, which only made her want to force the topic. “You’ll recall that we arrived together. I am depending on your carriage to return me home.”
The look he cast her way was void of all humor. “How could I possibly have forgotten? I will find you gentlemen as soon as I can, after all.”
The men walked away, amused. Tristan only looked perturbed.
“Are they not your good friends?” She feigned innocence.
“Some of my closest friends, in fact.”
Caroline lined up her mallet again, focusing on the grass. “Then why do you seem displeased to have the opportunity to speak to them?”
“Because they think they know the situation between us, Caro. I’ve done too good a job in giving the perception I am interested in an alliance with you, andyouhave given a perception you return the sentiment.”
She straightened, waiting for him to continue.
His eyes snapped. “If they believe I’m close to marriage, it will only make them try harder to find wives in order to cutme out. You’ve just made my need for marriage even greater.”
“Oh.”
“Indeed,” he said, stepping closer. There was at least the length of a book’s space between them, but she felt he was practically breathing down her neck. Her skin prickled with awareness. She maintained her position, looking into his eyes and marveling at how their brown irises could look so beautiful in the sunlight, yet so deep and dark in the shade.
Caroline could smell his shaving soap, the hints of bergamot and citrus hitting her nose with the sense of familiarity.
Softness flashed in his eyes while he looked down at her. His gaze dipped to her mouth, making her breath stall. Then he shook his head slightly. “That was not your doing. Shall we finish the game? I think we have made our point with Dennison. If I wanted to win another wager, I’d lay odds he is preparing to find you when I chance to leave your side.”
“That would be too soon.” She forced herself not to seek out Mr. Dennison in the crowd, nor to discover if he was watching them at that moment. Given Tristan’s confidence, it was clear he had been tracking the man, which made one thing abundantly plain: the way he’d been treating her during the game of pall mall had only been part of the plot to regain Mr. Dennison’s affection. She’d found herself reacting to him time and again, needing to remind herself he didn’t mean it.
He’d only offered for her because of his wager and his guilt. He only flirted with her because he flirted witheveryone. His compliments were not real; they were fabricated. He was doing his part to help her obtain the proposal he had foiled.
Inhaling slowly, she repeated those things to herself as she looked in his deep brown eyes.
